Conflagration
by outlook96
Summary: Tatum was abandoned in the middle of the The Scorch with no recollection of who she is or who she was. She runs into the gladers, who apprehensively take her in as one of there own after deducing that she's just as clueless as them. Surviving the perils of the Scorch is a difficult task, and through all this, she can't help but be attracted to the British boy with the limp.
1. The Beginning

**I do not own any part of The Maze Runner Trilogy, that belongs to the fantastic James Dashner.**

* * *

All she could think about was the heat. It was so _freakin'_ hot. It was so excruciatingly painful on her skin; that it started to burn. She struggled to look up at the radiant form of the blazing sun above her head and she decided in that moment, that she had never hated something so much. The humidity made it hard for her to inhale, as well as the dusty air.

Her body ached, like she had been in a coma for a year, and her stomach growled with hunger, like she had been starved the same amount of time. She groaned, clutching herself as she stumbled a few feet into the sand.

Where was she?

She had no idea.

She couldn't remember a thing.

Her mind ached as she tried to think of memories; friends, family maybe, but every time she tried she came up short.

Her mind was completely blank. It was vacant and bare, just like the land around her.

There was a whirring noise from above, and she glanced up.

A hundred feet above her was a large aerial vehicle, hovering in the air as it rose a few inches. The calamity of its large form caused it to blow the sand around her, making her to shield her face in order to protect her eyes.

She stared at it for a moment, and although it was an inanimate airborne medium, it seemed to stare back. Whoever was in that vehicle was watching her with close intensity. She held her arm up to shield the sun, and she made a face at it as she panted heavily. There was a shifting in the noise, and then it started to turn around, doing a full 360 rotation.

It made a loud whooshing noise as it flew off.

She had no time to analyze the vehicle anymore, but before flying off, after it turned around, she saw six letters.

WICKED.

She watched as it flew off in the distance, at an unbelievably hasty speed.

Finally, it kicked in that she was being abandoned here, in the middle of a barren desert. Panic mode set in and she felt the verge of a panic attack approaching

"WAIT!" Her dry throat croaked as she tried to run after the aircraft, her arms windmilling. "NO WAIT!" She hissed as her bare feet hit the staggered across the scorching sand. She hopped in the air, trying to avoid it as much as possible, and continue to scream at the aircraft as it retreating further and further away from her.

She shrieked for help until the aircraft was only the size of an ant, and that's when she finally gave up.

Defeat washed over her, and she collapsed onto the miniature dune of sand. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, but she didn't know what.

"Ah!" she yelped when the intense heat of the sand scolded her arms. She sat up into a kneeling position; her hands attempting to remove the curtain of hair in front of her face.

She finally turned around to analyze the desolate land, and when she turned around, during a full gyrate, she went stiff.

Encompassing her was only a burnt and cobbled landscape. There were traces of life here; hundreds of years ago maybe… All that was left was sand, dust, red rock, and dead husks of architecture that once thrived long ago.

Those dead husks weren't for another few miles; at least a day's walk away.

She couldn't decipher which she was scared of more: The heat, the loneliness, or the forgotten trace of her memory. She couldn't remember a damn thing. Not even her name.

Her name.

Something struck a chord in her, and like a spark igniting, something came to her mind. A name.

Tatum.

That must be her name, right? If not hers, then who's?

She shrugged to herself, concluding that that name must have belonged to her, and she stood up. She looked down at herself, observing her features. She had a fair skin tone, and a thin body, one that looked like it had barely eaten in the past few days. As if on cue, her stomach growled once again, and she moaned at the wiring pain in her abdomen.

She rotated her hands in front of her, like she was analyzing that they were really hers, and she rolled over to glance down at her legs. Her feet were red and the formation of blisters made a hasty start. Her hair was a light red, a shade that could almost be classified as strawberry blonde, and her face felt dry and dehydrated. She wasn't tall, but wasn't short either. IF she had to pick, she would be on the shorter side though. She wished she could see the rest of her features. What color were her eyes? Did she have freckles? Scars?

She fashioned a rather causal outfit. A long sleeve burgundy shirt, which she wished she could remove due to the heat, but she knew it would protect her from the intensity of the sun, and khakis that appeared to be a bit too large for her, hence the requirement of a brown belt to hold them up.

Why did she have no shoes on?

She frowned and pulled the pant legs over her feet to try to protect them from the scorching sand, but the balm of her foot was still exposed, as well as part of the heel.

She stood up, wincing as she felt the small inch of skin touch the sand, and moved forward.

She wanted to be strong, as well as brave; she did, but she just couldn't.

Only a minute after walking forward at leisure pace, she collapsed to the ground. This time in tears. What the hell was going on? Why would someone be so cruel and make her endure in this torturous environment, with no shoes or memory?

She couldn't help but cry. The tears felt nice as they pooled over her eyelids and streamed down her cheeks. Despite the warm temperature of them, they were cool compared to her hot face. They climbed down her cheeks, clinging for life at the bottom of her jaw line, until they fell to the sand below.

Sobs broke threw her chest, and she clutched it, curling into a fetal position.

She didn't even have protection. Some sunscreen would be nice, or some damn freaking shoes.

She remained like that for what seemed like hours, but in realism was only half of one. She concluded that she had to keep advancing forward, or else she would get nowhere, but that didn't stop her from letting a few sobs escape every now and again as she trudged forward.

From the angle of the sun, she deduced that it was around three or four.

The intensity of the sun was almost unbearable. It made her weary and tired, omitting any effort to run, although she probably should have in order to make it to the abandoned rubble miles ahead of her.

After walking for nearly two hours, blisters started to form. She had nothing to shield her face from, which caused it to dry out and crack from lack of moisture. The bottom of her feet bubbled, which was more disgusting to look at than anything. Her clothes were saturated in a fair amount of sweat, and her hair fell in thin clusters in front of her face.

Water.

She just wanted water.

What was it called, when character in movies thought they saw water in the middle of a desert, but it ended up being a hallucination?

A mirage.

She would give anything to even imagine a mirage, maybe then she would feel less thirsty. Maybe then she would have a motivator to move forward.

She wished she had her memory, and not for the sake of remembering memories, but for remembering what food tasted like. She could go for a fat, juicy burger right now, but all she had eaten in the last three hours was a mouthful of sand that had flown in her mouth as she tried to inhale.

The wind started to pick up, and it was nice to have some sort of cool refreshment, but in no way was it classified as a relief.

She heaved as she pulled the light weight of her body. Her tongue felt like a rock in her mouth, heavy and dry. She huffed as her body stumbled over one of the familiar red rocks.

It was too unbearable. The pain, the hunger, the dehydration, the blisters, the heat. It was all too much. She should have kept moving, but instead, for the third time that day, she collapsed to the floor.

Her body hit with a light 'plop' as she landed on the sand, and she made no effort to move herself, despite the twinging pain she felt. She couldn't even remember if her life was spent well. She couldn't remember if there was anyone that missed her, and she didn't remember if she had completed a bucket-list worthy catalog of pleasing tasks in her life.

And here she was, heaving for breaths, her face pressed to the sand as her body literally was being burned alive by the sun, which acted as a giant oven in this inhospitable arid region, about to die.

The fatigue from the heat stroke got the best of her, and her eyelids fluttered to a close.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Can you hear me?"

"Is she dead?"

At first, she couldn't hear them shouting over the wind. She couldn't hear anything, besides the howling air around her.

But seconds later, after she deduced that she hadn't imagined the whole scenario, she lifted her head up. Her eyes stung from lack of moisture, and she couldn't see anything but blurry shadows and red. So, in a natural reaction of course, she screamed.

"Hey! Girly! Calm the shuck down!" That was a male's voice, deep and slightly panicked as they tried to calm her down.

The moment her eyes dilated to focus on the shadows, she felt hands on her, which only made her more afraid. At least she could see them now.

She gulped a mouthful of air— and gritty dust— and her scream faded.

There were boys, all teenagers, scattered around the land beside her. They all had blankets over their heads, protecting them from the sun, and they were all clad in the same sweat drenched fashion that she was. They looked burnt, but slightly less charred then she felt. There was at least fifteen of them, three of them, clearly the leaders, were grabbing her as she writhed in the sand.

"Where am I?" She panted, "Who are you?" Tears welled in her eyes in fear. Her head darted frantically around, analyzing everyone and to check if there was a change in scenery.

An older boy of Asian descent kneeled forward, removing one hand from her arm. "Name's Minho," He pointed to himself. "This shank here's Thomas, that's Newt."

She observed the other two boys.

Thomas was tall, but not lanky. He had dark brown hair that matched his doe-y eyes, and small lips. She looked to the other boy, with a funny name, and saw a blonde boy, seventeen maybe, with blonde hair that cascaded in waves. He was also tall. He shot her a concerned look with his dark brown eyes. His chiseled jaw line was to die for, but the bags under his eyes were an alarming purple.

He was pretty cute, she had to admit. They were all pretty cute, but she had no time to expand on that thought.

She propped herself up on her elbows and scrutinized them.

"Who are you?" Newt interrupted her pore over. She observed the British brogue in his accented voice, and was taken aback by it at first.

"I…. U-Uh." She stuttered, "Tatum. My name's Tatum, I think."

Minho cocked a brow. "You think?"

"Yeah…" She licked her lips, "I mean, I don't know." She eyed them as she pondered whether or not to trust the boys. What if they were the ones who erased her memory and ditched her here? She took a second to decide against not telling them. "I can't remember anything."

As if Tatum had just revealed the big plot twist of a story, they froze. They exchanged glances, had some kind of internal conversation with their eyes, and then turned back to her.

"W-What?" She stuttered, pulling herself to a sitting position. "Why do you have this look on your face? T-This look like you know exactly what I'm talking about?" She expanded.

Minho shook his head, and stood up from his kneeling position as he ignored her. The other two did the same, and Minho held two hands out to help her stand up. She hesitated, but grabbed his cracked palms, hoisting herself erect.

An eruption of whispers broke out amongst the other boys who watched the confrontation like a zoo attraction. The wind had eased up a bit, making people's voices more audible. She glanced around at them. There were older boys and younger ones, tall and short.

Their piercing gazes made her feel uncomfortable and vulnerable.

"What're you doing out here?" Minho asked her, his arms folding over his chest.

She rubbed her sweat-drenched forehead with the back of her hand. "I don't know." She repeated in a deeper tone. "What are you doing out here?" she countered.

He scowled at her for a second, but Thomas' voice broke the connection. "Do you know anything about that city over there?" he pointed past her, causing her to spin around toward the abandoned pile of rubble that was her previous destination.

"What?" She breathed, "No. I was walking there, but it's too hot, I ended up falling asleep—" She glanced back down to the small indent her body made in the sand, "I guess…"

"So you can't remember anything?" Newt asked her, folding his arms in a similar manner to Minho.

She shook her head, "Just my name."

"Are you alright?" A boy hollered from the scattered crowd. They looked like the outfield of a baseball team. She didn't know how to reply, so she didn't. It was overwhelming being bombarded like this. "She looks like klunk!" He hollered to the boys when she didn't reply.

She didn't know what that word meant, but she knew it wasn't something pleasant.

"Get her some water," Someone shouted.

"What if she's part of WICKED?" ANother boy theorized out loud. Tatum thought back to the aircraft with the same name on it, and her face dropped.

Thomas leaned over to Minho, and although he tried to hush his whisper, she could still hear him. "Maybe she is apart of WICKED, or the experiment."

She froze. "Experiment? What experiment?" When they didn't answer, she started to get annoyed, "What is this place?" She gestured to the vacant region. Louder, she shouted, "Where am I?"

Minho presented her with a sly smirk as he straightened his posture.

"Welcome to the Scorch, Tatum."

* * *

 **A/N: Alright... So here we go again. Another Maze Runner fanfiction... Only this time it starts in The Scorch Trials, which I thought would be interesting and different from the rest. Give me your thoughts on the first chapter, maybe I'll continue.**


	2. Constituent

**Hello fellow gladers! Thanks for reading the last chapter. To those of you asking if I will continue Icarus (My other TST fanfiction for those of you who don't know) I promise I will update it. I'm just having a bad case of writers block, but I will continue. I have half a chapter written on, and I'm hoping to get it out sometime before Sunday.**

 **Enjoy this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: James Dashner owns 99.9% of this, if you haven't figured that out by now.**

* * *

Whatever 'The Scorch' was, it didn't sound good; in the slightest.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, to ask questions, her ears popped. Noises blurred around her and her vision became hazed. She felt her knees go weak and a cloud of grey enveloped her vision. Black dots started to form, like ants attacking a picnic, and she felt a deluge of wooziness right before she toppled to the floor.

"Get her some water!" Someone yelled.

"But—"

"Just do it!" A voice, who she recognized to be Newt's, screeched.

She felt a pair of clammy hands pry her body upwards to a sitting position. Light's danced over her field of view as she tried to look around, and she felt as if she would depose to the sand again.

She moaned as she leaned forward, resting her head between her knees, attempting to stop the swaying motion that she felt. Her world seemed to gyrate around her and all she wanted to do was heave, but she had nothing to vomit out.

"Are you alright?" Newt asked her crumpling form.

She shook her head, which made her even dizzier, causing her to moan again.

"Here," Minho bumped her leg with the toe of his shoe.

She struggled to look up, but when she saw the bottle of water in his hands, she practically snatched it from his grasp.

She unscrewed the lid and threw back the cool liquid down her throat. She gulped and gulped and gulped, until the last few drops of the bottle vanished.

"Girl can drink," Minho observed as he folded his arms again.

"I've been stuck out here for hours…" She panted, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. "No food, no water, and no shoes… Might I add."

They all glanced to her feet, and when they saw the effervesce scolds on her feet, they cringed.

"How'd you get here?" Thomas questioned with wide eyes.

She shrugged. "Couldn't tell ya. I was dropped here by some type of aircraft. It was large, and fast. Next thing you know I'm struggling in the sand without anything, even my memories, and the only thing I have is my name."

"Did you see anything? Anyone? Was there a man on the ship?" Thomas bombarded her, "Average height," He gesticulated with his hands, "dressed in white, kinda looks like a rat."

She groaned as she felt a migraine begin to form in the back of her head, and she tried to shake it off, "No. Nothing. I only saw the word WICKED painted on the side of the thing."

For the second time in that conversation, they froze.

"What?" She pushed, "What is it?"

"Check her neck," Minho ordered. He was clearly the leader of the group.

Newt moved around in his kneeling position to rotate towards the back of her.

"Hey!" She squealed when he grabbed the nape of her neck and lifted the collar of her shirt down. He remained like that for a little while, making everyone antsy with suspense, even her.

Her mind gyrated with theories. Was it some kind of alien invasion? Was she left with an extraterrestrial's trademark?

"Well?" Minho asked, dropping his hands, "Does it say anything shank?"

She frowned at the use of the word 'shank'. They had a lot of weird lingo like 'shank', and 'klunk', as well as 'shuck'. She made a mental not to ask them about the jargon later.

She felt his warm breath on her neck, shaky and unsteady before he opened his mouth. "Subject A11: The Constituent."

No one spoke for a while, except her. "What the hell does that mean?" and it made her enormously irate that they continued to neglect her, like she wasn't even there. "Hello?" She waved her hands frantically.

"Does that mean she's one of us?" A taller boy with long, shaggy hair asked from the outfield. They held eye contact for a moment, until she broke it, feeling awkward and belittled.

"Constituent means being a part of a whole," Newt explained, "A component, a building block." He elaborated, "Is that their way of telling us she's one of us?"

"How do we know the girl isn't a spy or somethin'?" Minho idealized.

Thomas shrugged, "We don't."

"Well," Newt scoffed, "She looks just as bloody clueless and beat up as the rest of us."

"He's right!"A boy agreed.

"What do we do then?"

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?!" She cried out.

She felt the rough knuckles of Newt's hand slowly pry themselves off of her shirt, moving back to sit down beside her. He sighed, before speaking to the small mass of boys entirely. "I think it's time for a break."

* * *

They all sat in a circle in the sand, huddled underneath thin blankets that scarcely defended them from the sun. They all ate granola bars or apples, except for her. She waited while they debated for half an hour whether or not to give her food.

Newt and Thomas were on her side, Minho was apprehensive, hence the initiation to take a vote, and the others mostly voted yes for her to have food, minus three or four boys.

"Look," Minho was growing irritated, "We're already running out of food, it wouldn't hurt to give the girl an apple or two."

"But what if she's a spy?" A boy she learned whose name was Jack countered.

"I'm not a spy!" She yelled for the millionth time. "I have no idea what's going on and I'm getting freakin' hangry!"

Newt snorted.

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't," Minho shrugged, "But I say we feed the Slinthead and get to yappin'"

"We're going to tell her everything?" A boy named Clint asked.

It was then that she noticed the lack of girls. Was the world ending? Was there no females left? Was she the last one? Was that the big news they so suspenseful elucidated up to?

"If she's a bloody spy, then it won't matter. She'll have already known everything." Newt enlightened the mass.

"He's right," Thomas concurred.

Tatum's stomach growled audibly again, earning glances from a few boys, in particular the ones on her side: which consisted of Newt and Thomas.

"I say we give her food," A boy who hadn't spoken the whole meeting enunciated. In fact, she hadn't even noticed the boy until now. He was average height; maybe a little closer to the short side, he had thick, brooding brows, a strong jaw line, vividly bright eyes, and his hair was shaggy, but not long. It was similar to Thomas' only his was thinner and lighter in color. He looked to be the same age as Thomas. "We let her eat, and then we talk."

"You're just taking her side because you were in the same place she was a few hours ago!" Someone on the opposite side of the circle hollered.

The boy's comment made her curious, and she cocked her head in response. The boy's eyes were locked with hers, and she felt some sort of unspoken connection towards him. Maybe because it seemed they had both been accused of being spies

"Slim it!" Minho hissed, and then he turned back to the boy "Then what?" Minho asked, surprising the mass of boys because it seemed he was the all-knowing leader.

He shrugged, "Then we take her with us."

Minho made a face, and he readjusted the blanket over his head to cover a larger area of his face. He looked like a nun. That thought forced Tatum to stifle a laugh. Minho sighed, and leaned over to the boy sitting next to him. The boys had their blankets wrapped around themselves unevenly, with one side hanging longer than the other so they could hold the scarce food and water they had in a make-shift bag.

He grabbed two apples and tossed them her way.

She caught them, one in each hand, and rubbed the side of the gala's with her shirt to rid the gritty taste the sand would've caused.

She bit into it, and sighed through her nostrils when she heard the satisfying crunch it made. It took her less than a minute to finish the first apple.

"Alright," She mumbled through mouthful of food, "So what's this about an experiment? And what's WICKED? Or who? And why do I have a tattoo on my back? Or at least, I'm assuming it's a tattoo. You guys didn't really clarify."

They all exchanged glances, wondering who should do all the talking.

When no one spoke up, Thomas scooted forward. "I suppose I'll start," He lifted a finger blasély in the air. She cocked her head when she saw the raw texture of it. It was burnt, and not sun-burnt, like rare, bloody skin. She wondered how he had obtained that. He let out a long-suffering sigh before his speech. "A few days ago, we escaped a giant maze."

She didn't know what to do with those words. It was a terrible way to start a story, really. So she remained deadpanned, a bite of apple sitting in her mouth as she widened her eyes.

"Uhh…" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Maybe that's not the best place to start," Newt commented. All eyes switched to him, and he sighed after enduring in an awkwardly long silence; looks like he was going to do the explicating.

"I'm going to make this as very brief as possible," he gesticulated a cutting motion with his hands, "To start: No one remembers anything. Us more then you, though. All we know is our first names as well."

She made a face at that statement. Who would torture them like that? Who would rid their memories and then let them endure in a life-threatening mission? More importantly: Who had the power to do that?

"Just two days ago, we were all stuck inside of a giant maze, with a dell in the middle in which we called the glade. We built a sort of community inside the glade, consisting only of boys around our age. We all had jobs, like runners who would track the maze," Minho raised a hand, "Or baggers who would guard it."

"Guard it from what?"

Newts shrugged, "They made sure gladers, besides the runners, didn't get out."

A look of horror spread across her face. What was so intimidating about a maze?

"Creatures called grievers roamed the maze," a boy told her, "They were giant mechanical scientifically-engineered slug spiders who would kill or sting you in a heartbeat."

Her jaw dropped.

Newt wasted no time in continuing. "Sloppers would clean and do the dirty work, cooks who would prepare food. Track-hoes were responsible for gardening. Slicers took care of the animals. , and builders—well— that's pretty self-explanatory. We built a jail, a council hall, a dining area. We had survived in the maze for nearly three years as part of an experiment initiated by WICKED."

"WICKED stands for World In Catastrophe Killzone Expirement Department," Thomas added, leaning closer to her.

She went stiff, and her eyes sank to the floor

 _World In Catastrophe._

Was this some kind of sick joke? Was she dreaming? She pinched herself discreetly to make sure, and sure enough, it was real. She could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, and she could feel the eyes of the others on her.

" _World in Catastrophe…"_ She mumbled to herself, drawling over the words still. Only those closest to her could hear her.

"That's right Girly." Minho confirmed with a weak smile, although she wasn't seeking conformation. It was clear the earth was reduced to rubble. Were there any parts of the world that still sustained life? I guess the boys wouldn't know.

She winced at Minho's nickname. It struck a chord in her. Was it a memory she couldn't retain? She shook off the odd feeling and turning back to Newt, nodding with teary eye's for him to continue. He, as well, gave her a feeble smile in an attempt to cheer her up.

"In the middle of the glade was what we called 'The Box' it was an elevator type-thing where every month a new greenie—"

"Greenie?" she interrupted.

"It's what we call the newbies," Thomas explained .

She nodded.

Newt continued, "So same day, every month, on schedule a new greenie would come up."

"Every month?" She asked. She admired Newt's patience at her constant question-asking.

"Every bloody month," He bobbed his head up and down. "Thomas was the latest greenie before it happened."

 _It happened._ She shivered at those words, although she didn't know how daunting they truly were.

"—He came up on time, just like the others, but the next day, a girl came up."

"Her name was Teresa," Thomas cut in. "She had a note in her hand. It said she was the last one ever. She was the trigger towards the ending of the trial."

Again, she shivered at the word trial.

"Long story short, a lot of gladers died, but we had escaped. We found a hidden passage and basically had to invade the grievers' home." Minho bluntly spat out.

"We escaped, and when we did, we were faced with the Creators. They explained that we passed the Maze Trials. A group of rescuers attacked them and we were saved and taken to a safe haven. Or so we buggin' thought," He rolled his eyes.

It was Minho's turn to speak now. She had learnt, from the few minutes of knowing Minho, that he liked to use the cursing jargon they had from the glade. "The rescuers told us that Sun Flares ravaged the world, causing countless miles of wasteland." He gestured, with both hands, all around him. "A big shuckin' portion of the population died, and the ones that did survive became sick with the Flare. It's a virus in the brain that causes people to go crazy," he made a winding motion with his finger beside his head. "The crazies are called the cranks."

"Okay," She held out to hands for them to pause, "So let me get this straight: everything you went through was a test?"

"Yes!" The boy who had stood up for her earlier enunciated. "They studied our brains, our killzones, all in the name of science and medicine."

"Oh God…" He voice croaked.

A weak smile formed on Newt's lips. "We fell asleep in the safe haven, and when we woke up, Cranks were attacking and our saviors were nowhere in sight. Neither was Teresa."

"That's how we knew our 'safe haven'" Minho finger quoted, "Wasn't real. None of it. In Teresa's place was Aris," Minho stabbed a dry finger at Aris, the boy who had stood up for her earlier. "We think they must have switched them, put Teresa with the girls and Aris with us boys."

"The girls?" She cocked a brow.

"There was another maze, Group B. We are group A." He clarified, "We haven't met them yet."

She shrugged her shoulders forward, her eyes rolling downward. "I guess that makes sense." She couldn't tell which emotion was manifesting itself more: Fascination or fear.

Why couldn't she have been dropped with the girls? Maybe they would be more reluctant to take her in, motherly instinct and all.

Newt nodded and took over for Minho, "The man we told you about earlier, when we were talking about the aircraft you saw, Janson, he initiated the second trial. He told us we had to step through a teleporter called a flat-trans. He said we had two weeks to cross the Scorch because we've all got the Flare." Newt went silent, and everyone around him went silent. "We've all caught the Flare, and now you have too."

She couldn't respond. How could she reply to that? All she could do was all the look of horror to spread across her face. The boys' eyes were piercing against her skin, and she wouldn't to look at them, but she didn't want them to see how fearful she was. She didn't want to seem weak. It was a terrible first impression to make. But who could blame her? She was just reborn into a new, memory-less life, and now she was just told she would die.

"You're lying." She shook her head, almost angry at them for planting such terrible thoughts into her.

"I wish," Minho grumbled.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, reminding her that she was still alive, despite being attacked by a lethal disease. How could this all be real? It all seemed like a bad dream.

She bit her lip to suppress any noise that threatened to escape once she finally accepted their words. "So what now?" She croaked.

"They promised us a cure if we made it to the safe haven. We were instructed to go a hundred miles directly north. We make it or we die." His brows furrowed together. And although he was looking directly at her, his mind seemed to be somewhere else.

His words were like a terrible tag line of what seemed to be a good movie, but in realism they were her fate for the next two weeks.

She lifted her hand to her face, and started nervously gnawing on the ends of her nails. They were already filed down to nubs. It must've been a nervous habit she had. "This is all so much to take in…" She breathed a long-suffering sigh through her heart shaped lips.

"We know," Minho concurred. "and as much as I would love to stay here and relax, I vote we keep moving. Our time only just started running out, but every second we waste lowers our chance of survival. So I say we pick our asses up and keep walking."

"What do we do with the girl?" Clint raised a question.

"We can't take her with us," A darker boy frowned, "She's clearly a spy. Just because she has a tattoo on her neck, doesn't mean she's one of us."

Tatum made a mental note to keep an eye on the boy who had disliked her. She leaned forward to Thomas and whispered quiet enough for only them two to hear. "What's that kid's name?"

"Mund," He whispered back to her.

She nodded, waiting for an answer from Minho, who seemed to be the leader. "Look," He sighed, "We can't just leave her here. She'll die."

"But if she works for WICKED, they won't let her die." Jack contoured.

"And if she doesn't?" Newt's thick brows rose. He straightened his posture and puffed his chest to show dominance in the situation, which Tatum found slightly comical.

The boy just shrugged, knowing Newt would win the argument.

"We've already told her too much!" Someone shrieked.

"Hey…" She frowned.

Newt snorted.

"If it's any constellation, I pinky promise I'm not a spy. If I was, I'm pretty sure they would have given me some damn shoes," She gestured to the gruesome form of the soles of her feet again.

"Let's take a vote." Minho announced again.

"What's with you guys and voting?" She shook her head. Such boys. She wasn't worried about being let behind, because it seemed for the most part that they were on her side, minus three of four boys, but she still did get a nervous flutter in her chest when Minho spoke again.

"Who votes we keep her?"

Newt's hand shot up first. Followed by Thomas'. Minho, Aris, Clint, and six other boys had raised their hands. She made a mental not of their faces, so she could thank them later. Only four boys hand's remained glued to their laps, and that made Tatum slightly depressed at the thought of being abandoned. She'd have rather died in her sleep a few minutes ago.

"It's settled," Minho grumbled as he stood up from his pile of sand, "She's coming with us whether you shanks like it or not."

She clapped internally.

She saw a hint of a smile on Thomas beside her, which made her realize that they didn't all think she was a terrible spy for WICKED.

One by one, they all stood up from the semi-circle. They all erupted into frantic chatter, and Minho had to whistle over the roaring wind to regain their attention. "Which shank wants to volunteer to share their blankey with girly over here?"

She internally moaned at Minho's grammar and repetitive cursive jargon.

"Newt, Fry, and you are the only ones without a partner Minho." Jack gestured to Minho again.

"I ain't sharing with the girly—"

"I have a name," She grumbled.

"—have you seen how tall I am? I can barely fit myself underneath this blanket."

Tatum observed that Newt and Minho were, in fact, very similar in height, only varying a few inches. While Minho appeared to be more huskier, Newt lacked a little muscle –although he still had some— which meant that Minho just didn't want to share with her. She rolled her eyes at that deduction.

"I'll volunteer." Newt tendered with a monotone voice.

She didn't know if she should thank him, so she just gave him a gentle nod of the head and a slight smirk, in which he reciprocated.

"Great!" Minho chirped. "Now are you shanks ready to pick up the pace? When dusk approaches we'll stop for another snack break and take a little nap. We've been awake for way too shucking long." He shook his head, and it was then that Tatum noticed the flawless head of hair on the boy. It was spiked so perfectly to the side, and it wasn't greasy or sweaty in the slightest, unlike the rest.

She exhaled a breathy laugh, which earned a glance from Newt.

"Ready?" Minho hollered over the wind that had started to pick up.

"Wait!" She squealed, her butt still planted to the floor while the others stood up.

"Agh!" He groaned, spinning around to look down at her, "What?"

She pointed, with both hands, to her blistered feet. "Do you by chance happen to carry a spare pair of shoes on you?"

"Oh yeah," Minho nodded, "I always carry shoes when I unexpectedly trek across a scorching wasteland in case I meet some dumb shank without them."

She glared at him, inaudibly telling him that he could cut the sarcasm, although she tended to be pretty sarcastic herself at times. But she was not in the mood right now.

Minho sighed, "Someone wanna give her their socks or something?" He pivoted, gesturing around. "If she can steal two pairs I'm sure she'll be able at least walk. Besides, it'll be easier on her feet instead of wearing boots."

She bit her lip, pivoting to the group of boys. Everyone remained still, unmoving and silent. No one volunteered for the first few seconds, and in that silence she felt bad. She felt like a lost puppy, a freeloader, which –despite not knowing anything about herself— she knew she was not. She knew she was a warrior, a fighter, not a coward.

"Here," Aris spoke up, raising his left hand. He leaned on Thomas with his other hand, and then shimmied his combat boots off. He pulled both socks off, and tossed them her way. She caught the insulated fuzz balls and encompassed them around her feet.

"Thanks," She gave him a grateful smile, and he gave her a half-smirk back. She was fond of hat kid, he had helped her out a lot in the past hour that she knew him.

"She can have mine too," Another boy said. This was the first time she had seen this boy. He was darker, Hispanic maybe? He had a large nose, and soft eyes. The weirdest thing about his face was the burns, though. They were like no other. It was like someone had dunked his head in hot lava, and let him rest there for a few minutes before pulling him back up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was covered in puss and an alarming red, and his lips were split open, more so then hers and the others. His hair fell in thin clusters around his face, and the skin that did show was seeping red. What had happened to the boy? It reminded her of Thomas' hands. Besides the obvious wounds, he was actually pretty handsome; or he seemed to be, at least. Maybe that was just the penchant of chivalry talking. He handed her the socks with a wide grin, and she shot him a gummy one.

"Thanks—"

"Winston," He interrupted; his mouth quirking up. He had nice teeth, at least.

"Thanks Winston," She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She put on the second pair of socks, and then stood erect. She sighed in relief once her feet pressed into the sand. It was still uncomfortably warm, but the thick layers of the two pairs seemed to ward off any scolding heat. But that didn't take away the pain of her already-infectious soles.

"You good now?" Minho asked, his brow protruding in the air.

She nodded.

"Alright," He wiped his face with his sleeve, then spun around to everyone. "We keep walking towards the town, and when dusk approaches, we'll take a nap. Sound good shanks?"

"Ai,"

"Yeah,"

"Can we sleep now?"

"No," Minho growled, "Now let's go."

People started shuffling around her, and she looked to Newt who was readjusting the blanket around his face. She tried to prepare herself for the awkward closeness that was advancing, but there was no way she could avoid it. She had just met these kids.

She waited for Newt to say something first; and he did, eventually. "Ready greenbean?"

She made a revolted face at him, her nose scrunching up in disgust at the odd name.

His face softened and he smiled slightly. I guess she was their new 'greenie' or whatever.

She shuffled towards him, and he pulled the blanket around her shoulders, his arm lying across the nape of her neck. "You got it?" he asked, as the sheet flapped in the wind around their faces. Her right hand slid across the cape to meet his, and she grabbed it from his grasp.

"Yeah, thanks." Her shoulder pressed closely to his, and they huddled together, their faces practically touching. They had to protect their skin as much as possible, and in order to save as much surface area as possible, they needed to squeeze together.

"Good that," He bobbed his head. "Right. Let's go then." They pulled the sheet close to their faces, resembling a nun, and their hips grazed each other as they moved around underneath the blanket.

They stepped forward, in sync, and started their long trek.

* * *

Every step she took caused a fume of dust to form around them, and the fast wind seemed to swirl the tiny particles into a miny tornado around their feet.

She squinted her eyes at the vivid sun, which was a bit too brilliant for her liking, and their feet's trudged against the floor, their feet occasionally coming into contact with each other or left over rubble; such as concrete, wood, melted tires, etc., Once she swore she saw Newt trip over a small carcass.

She noticed something about Newt that she hadn't noticed before. It wasn't completely obvious, but she saw that Newt had a little hop to every step he took. He limped across the sand, one foot putting more pressure onto the floor then the other. She was curious how had received that, but again, they had only merely an hour ago, and if she was stuck with them, she didn't anticipate pushing personal bubbles.

"So," She sparked conversation loudly over the wind, "How long you guys been out here?"

"Just today," He responded to her surprise, "We came up some sort of tunnel hours ago, in the morning."

She widened her eyes in shock. "Sure looks like you know what you're doing for boys who only just entered a giant wasteland.

He replied with a shrug. "We just stick together."

"Hmm," She nodded, curling her cracked lips over her teeth.

"So you really don't remember anything?" he tried to uphold the conversation as they continued to ramble the dry earth.

She shook her head, "Nothing." She scratched her face, which felt leathery and hot now. "It's quite frustrating." She sighed.

"Yeah," He scoffed, "I know what you bloody mean."

She smirked. "So how can you be so sure that this isn't a trap? What if there is no cure for whatever virus we have?"

Again, he shrugged. "We can't be sure," he told her, "But it's all we buggin' got for hope."

She agreed with that.

When she didn't say anything in reply, he turned his head to look at her. Their faces were alarmingly close, so he whipped his head away from her the second his brown eyes locked with hers.

What color eyes did she have? What did she look like?

She touched her face with the pads of her fingers, as if that would help surface her features and give her a better understanding of her facial structure.

"Newt,"

"Hmm?"

"What color are my eyes?"

His lips pressed together as his eyes moved to hers. He was silent for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing every feature of her sun-burnt face. "Green," He told her.

She wasn't annoyed with the answer, but she thought it was vague. Were they a vivid green? A pale green? Maybe light green with darker rings on the outside? The answer didn't satisfy her, but she left it alone.

As egotistic as it sounded, she would do anything for a mirror right now.

"So how long were you in the maze?" She questioned him again.

His lips quirked up to the left. "I was one of the original gladers. Minho, Fry and I."

"Fry?" She asked. That was a funny name.

He pointed to a boy beside Winston. He was short, husky, and dark skin. He had a gummy smile, which made an appearance when she looked over, and his face was round. "That's Frypan. His name was Siggy, at least, that's what he remembered, but he goes by Fry. He was the chef in the glade."

"What was your job in the glade?" Tatum looked sharply at him, awaiting a response. She was highly fascinated with the whole 'maze' ordeal.

"I went through a few jobs, actually. I was a runner. Then a Track-Hoe—"

"Track-Hoe's garden right?"

He nodded, chuckling. "And I was also second in command."

"Who was first?" She asked hastily, "Minho?"

"Ha!" He sneered, "No shuckin' way. That bloody shank?" He paused for a few seconds, his smile faltering into a slight frown. "His name was Alby."

 ** _Was._**

His name _was_ Alby.

She could tell by the broken expression on his face that she should ask no more. She was stepping across her boundaries, now. Just because Newt trusted her, unlike some of the others, doesn't mean she should obtain all the information she could out of him.

"HEY!" She heard the shouting to her left. "HEYYYY!" and it wasn't the blonde boy beside her.

It was Frypan, the boy's whose name she had just learnt. He was pointing, screaming, and it was difficult to hear his voice, him being so far away from them and the gust of wind cutting off any voice pitches.

His mouth opened to shout again, one hand cupping around his orifice, while the other pointed in front of him.

She followed his direction and went stiff when she saw what got the boy all animated.

Less than a mile away, two running figures manifested from the plume's of sand. They were sprinting away from the town it seemed, and they were advancing straight for them.

* * *

 **A/N: Enjoy! I think I will continue this. A certain scene later on in the story came to me in a dream, and now I'm so ecstatic to write it. R &R please :)**

 _ **Potatopeelies: Thank you I'm glad you enjoy it!**_

 _ **ImABird27: Thank you! A very special thank you to you. You always read my stories and review. I'm always excited to hear what you say :)**_

 _ **Aberrance: Thanks for the review, but I'm not so much as holding this story up for ransom, but seeing if people will read it. What's the point of writing a story if no one will read it? I'm just experimenting with my writing, is all, and I want to know if people enjoy it,which I hope you do!**_

 _ **NEwtnTMR: Thanks!**_

 _ **BadDancer: Don't worry! I'll update it. Just got bad writers block!**_

 _ **Rue:** **I promise I'll update Icarus! Just a bad case of writers block!**_

 ** _GalaxyDefender: Thank you :) I'm glad to hear!_**


	3. Smile

**Disclaimer: If I was James Dashner, you'd know by now.**

* * *

"What the…" She mumbled under her breath, her eyes squinting towards the two shadows in mid sprint.

They all slowed to a stop, without being told to do so.

"Bloody hell," She heard Newt mutter.

She glanced at him, briefly, and then turned her attention back to the two runners, which were now advancing yards closer than before.

Were they running away from someone? Or Something? Or had they seen the group of gladers in the Scorch and decided to help them? Or kill them?

She shivered.

"Everyone pack in tighter," Minho hollered, "And get ready to fight these shanks at the first sign of trouble."

Newt tugged the blanket, signaling for her to move, and they shuffled underneath the sheet closer towards Minho, as if he was the epicenter of the circle. Tatum curled her hands over the thin sheet, pulling it closer to her face, as if that would magically protect her from the progressing strangers.

The rising heat caused the faces of the two strangers to contort, making their identity undetectable until they were barely a few yards away.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas stiffen beside Aris, his muscles clenching as he grinded his teeth together.

After glancing around, she noticed all the gladers fashioned the same expression. Fear, disgust, anxiety.

She established that one was male, and one was female, both around the same age of thirty. They were both skinny, lanky, and lean, although the lady had more curves. It was hard to see their faces under the tattered clothing and grimy material. The only visible skin that was showing around their eyes was red scabby, and swathed in filth.

They strolled to a top, hunching over on their knees as they wheezed for fresh air.

"Who are you?" Minho asked.

Newt and Tatum shared an expression.

"Who _are_ you?" he repeated, adding more emphasis when they didn't respond.

Surely the two could hear him. The wind wasn't that loud.

Once again though, they ignored Minho. They stood erect, glanced around at the gladers and Tatum for a few seconds, then encircled around them, one on each side, like they were herding sheep. The action made her heart thumb in her chest because of nervousness. They didn't appear to have weapons on them, but they still looked dodgy as ever. The whole 'no talking' thing added to the demeanor.

You could cut the tension with a knife it was so overwrought.

The male runner fixed her eyes with Tatum's for an awkwardly long while, and she felt belittled looking into the bleak, bloodshot eyes, as they fell into thin slits.

She looked away.

"Hey," Minho growled when they had made a full circle around them, "There are a whole lot more of us then there are of you. Start talking. Tell us who you are."

"We're cranks." For someone looking so ragged and worn-down, the girl had a chirpy voice. Making them all flinch, the woman lifted a finger. She pivoted around and pointed towards the town the gladers were advancing on; for no particular reason at all. Could that have been a warning that the town was filled with Cranks such as them?

"Cranks?" Minho said, "Just like the ones tried to break into our building a couple of days ago?"

Tatum shivered at the word, her brain thinking back to the conversation merely an hour ago. In her mind, she imagined Cranks to have flesh-rotting skin with no teeth and life-less eyes, but maybe these Cranks weren't that far gone. But on the other hand they did look— well— for lack of better words; like crap.

"We're cranks," The man confirmed, "Came to see if you're cranks. Came to see if you've got the Flare," His voice was quick, the words meshing together like they were one word.

Minho spun around, looking at Thomas, Newt, Tatum, as well as a few others. He raised a brow, his lips curling downward, before he spun back around to the cranks.

There was a long silence, preceding a few awkward glances.

Taking initiative, Tatum stepped forward, her shrill voice startling herself, more so than the others. "We got the Flare. What's it to you?"

The man shot her a disgustingly cynical smile; deteriorating teeth and all.

She cringed, "Can you tell us anything about it?" She paused, "At all?" She added.

"Don't matter," He shook his head, his brown locks escaping the sheet wrapped tightly around his scalp, "You got it. You'll know soon enough."

"Well what do you bloody want?" Newt asked, releasing the blanket to move beside Minho. "What's it matter to you if we're Cranks or not?" Thomas joined the two, and the three stood in front of the Cranks while the rest held back.

"How'd you get in the Scorch? Where'd you come from? How did you get here?" The woman bombarded the three.

Tatum watched as the three exchanged glances. Minho leaned to Newt, whispering something in his ear, which caused Newt to nod, and then he tipped towards Thomas.

She couldn't pick up what the three were conversing about, until Minho's eyes widened in fury, and he growled at Thomas more audibly. "What an idea Thomas! You're freaking brilliant, as usual." She noticed the plentiful bounty of sarcasm in his voice.

Thomas scowled, and they went back to hushed whispers again.

"We were sent here by WICKED," Minho announced, facing the strangers again "Came out of a hole just a little while that way form a tunnel." He hiked a thumb over his shoulder, "Picked that girly up along the way. We were told to go one hundred miles to the North, across the Scorch. Any of that mean a thing to you?"

Once again, they ignored him. Tatum detected the rage on Minho's face.

"Not all Cranks are gone." The man muttered in a grave tone, "Not all of them are past the Gone." Tatum was sure that these Cranks were still intelligent enough to speak properly, so she knew that when he said 'past the Gone' he referred to it as a place, or time.

"Different ones at different levels. Best you learn who to make friends with and who to avoid. Or kill. Better learn right quick if you're coming our way."

Tatum shivered.

"What's your way?" Minho asked for all of the curious gladers, "You came from that town, right? Is that where all the Cranks live? Is there food and water there?"

So many questions; but such unworthy answerers. The pair didn't seem reluctant to help them at all. Either that or they just didn't care; or didn't understand.

"If you don't have it, you'll have it soon." The women told them, turning not only to the prime three, "Same with the other group, the ones that are supposed to kill you!" She said it in such a pleased tone, it made her stomach somersault.

The man did something that startled them all. After an unnerving stillness, he sauntered towards the only girl in the group. Tatum gasped sharply when the man stopped in front of her, his hand rising to meet her face. His scale-y palm cupped her jaw line, his thumb moving back and forth to rub her dehydrated skin.

She shielded away from the man, and she heard someone, maybe Newt, caution "Hey," in warning.

"Such a fine-looking smiiiiiile," He whispered, his sentence ending in a hiss, similar to that of a snake's, "Just like your father."

She peeled his hands off her, her face expressing extreme disgust, and she staggered back a few steps away from him. Aris pushed her back up with the palms of his hands, and she gave him a gracious nod, dusting herself off as she looked back to the man. With one last contemptuous grin, the man revolved and darted back towards the town; the woman following closely behind him.

"Wait!" She hollered after them, yearning for more answers, but they were already gone. What did he mean? Just like her father? Her brain hurt, a migraine starting to form just at the thought of imagining what her father looked like.

How could they run in this heat—with all that clothing? Just the thought made her want to heave what little food she had in her body.

Newt ran a hand through his wavy hair, sighing as he faced the gladers.

"Other group?" Frypan mumbled, stepping into the center of the circle.

"Wonder if they're talking about my group," Aris speculated.

"Probably," Tatum chimed in. She looked to Thomas, who was now the only one still facing the retreating Cranks. His face was filled with worry and fret.

He snapped out of his brief stupor, stiffening, and then darted back around. "Group B? You think they've made it to the town?"

"Hello!" Minho impulsively shouted, "Who cares? You think the little part about them supposedly killing us would be the attention getter. Maybe the stuff about the Flare? Or that klunk about her father?"

Tatum raised her hands in the air innocently, causing the blanket to fall around her feet. It whipped in unknown directions, curling around her ankles.

"Have you seen that shank before?" Mund, the one that highly disliked her despite only knowing her for less than a few hours, asked her.

"Never," She replied, hands still surrendering in the wind.

"He seemed to recognize you," Newt mumbled, to her surprise.

"I've never seen that dude before," She derided.

Newt lifted a hand to his face, his fingers massaging the barely-visible stubble he had on his chin. Or was that sand?

"Maybe he was confusing you with someone else," Thomas speculated.

"I sure hope so…" She trailed off, her arms finally falling to her side.

"Again!" Minho vocalized, "Who cares?! I'm more worried about dying then those shuck faces confusing her with someone. Besides, did you see them? They're cranks. Their minds are all jumbled up," He gestured to his head.

"Aren't we cranks too?" She countered.

Minho sighed; his eyes rolling skyward once he met her green irises, "Didn't you hear the shank? There's different stages. That makes sense, doesn't it? Otherwise we'd all be eating each other's dumb shuck brains out."

"Maybe when she said 'you' she didn't mean all of us," Thomas sparked a thought, "Maybe she meant me specifically." He tapped a finger on the nape of his neck, "Couldn't tell where her eyes were looking."

"Why would she be talking about only you?" Tatum asked, "What's so special about you?"

Their bodies rotated towards her, and she stepped forward to join their circle. Thomas licked his lips, like he was preparing himself for something, and then he spun away from her, like he was ignoring her. At first, that action confused her, but then, she realized why he had done that when he pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal his nape.

In thick, blocky letters, similar font to a type writer, were words printed on his neck.

 **Property of WICKED, Group A, Subject A2: To Be Killed by Group B.**

"What the hell…" Was all she could say. Her jaw hung open, and her fingers remained on Thomas' neck, that is, until he shook her off.

Newt nodded from behind Minho, as if to say 'mhm'.

Her bottom lip jutted out as her eyes sank to the floor.

It took her a moment to process that. So they all had tattoos, were there's all as demoralizing as his? Hers was 'the constituent' which meant she was supposed to be here, she was a building block. She had a purpose. What was her purpose? Was that why the man had seemed to recognize her? She wanted answers; she would do anything for just a couple of answers.

"I don't think he was talking primarily to you," She told Thomas, "The way he spoke… I don't know. It was like he was warning us, without actually warning us."

"That makes no sense," Minho stated.

She rolled her eyes, "Well, how would she've know who Thomas is?"

"He knew who you were." He opposed.

She ran a hand through her stringy hair, "Could have been a big mistake, maybe not. I don't know, I'm still pretty confused. If you don't remember, you just told me that the world had basically ended and flesh-eating zombies are roaming the earth, not to mention that you guys gave me the virus that caused those people to be like. I'm just trying to make sense of this all."

Minho actually shot her a pitiful look, and that was probably the closest she would get to concern from Minho.

"Well, it doesn't matter," He spoke louder so everyone could hear, "If someone tries to kill you," He pointed to Thomas, "Or me, or anyone, they might as well try to get through all of us, right?" Minho peered over at her from the corner of her eye. Had he meant her too?

"You're so sweet!" Frypan chirped sarcastically, "Go ahead and die with Thomas, I think I'll sneak away and enjoy living with the guilt." His face fell to a comical smile, which explained he was only joking, but Tatum could sense a hint of truth to his words.

"Well what do we do now?" Tatum directed at Minho.

Newt nodded his head at Minho, "Whad'ya think?"

"We keep going, that's what. Look, we don't have a choice. If we don't go to that town we're gonna die from sunstroke or starvation. If we _do_ go we'll have some shelter, maybe even food. Cranks or no Cranks. We're going."

"Good that," Newt agreed.

"And Group B?" Thomas asked, "Or whoever they were talking about. What if they really do wanna kill us? All we have to fight with is our hands." He lifted to clenched fists in the air to demonstrate.

Minho smirked, "If these people are really the girls Aris was hanging out with, then I'll show 'em these guns of mine and they'll go runnin'"

Tatum snorted.

Instantaneously, Minho's eyes fell into thin slits and he scowled at her. "Can't tell if I love her or hate her." He tapped a finger on his chin. This time, Newt snorted.

"What if the girls have guns?" Thomas asked, "Weapons? Or can fight?"

"What if it's not them at all?" Tatum could feel the anxiety flooding in her chest, "What if it's a bunch of seven foot tall flesh-eating ogre's?"

"Gross," Minho cringed. "Alright," He vocalized louder, "Everyone slim it! No more questions. If you've got an idea that doesn't involve dying then quit your pipin' and let's take the only shuckin' chance we got. Get it?"

They all nodded, Thomas even smiled.

"That's better," Minho gave a content not, "Now anyone else wanna pee their pants and cry for mommy?"

A few snickers broke out, while Tatum merely rolled her eyes.

"Good. Newt you and the lady lead up front, limp and all, I'll be right behind ya. Thomas, get your arse to the back. Jack, watch Winston, make sure his face doesn't get more shucked up then it already is. Let's go."

Tatum gnawed on her cracked lips and picked up the blanket curling around her feet. Newt moved towards her again, and he put an arm around her shoulder so they could wrap the sheet around themselves again.

With the warm blanket draped loosely across their shoulders, they moved forward once again.

"Want me to grab the food?" She asked Newt after a minute or so of walking.

He shook his head, "There's not much left anyways," He let out a cheerless laugh.

She nodded.

"How's your feet?" He asked, startling her. No one had asked how she was, yet. Not after the fainting, not after the big revilement about WICKED and the Flare, not about her feet. Newt was the first.

"Better," She retorted, wiggling her toes, "Not so painful anymore."

"Good."

The small talk was getting on her nerves, and if she was spending the next two weeks with these guys, then she needed to surpass the 'awkward' stage in the friendship. She needed to gain the trust of everyone, she needed to fit in.

They jogged for a few minutes and for a while the only sound you could hear was everyone's heaving chest, but eventually everyone got too fatigued, so they slowed to a toddle again.

Slowly, softly, the horizon began to eat up the last rays of the sun. A deep purple color encompassed them as they trekked in the dusk. It was more comfortable to hike in, and her face, for once, didn't feel like it was going to peel off.

Newt hissed beside her, and they slowed their walk a bit, allowing others to pass in front of them.

"You alright?" She asked the boy, who gripped his hip as they strode.

His eyes scrunched into slim slits, and his teeth ground together, "Just my buggin' leg," He managed to spit out, "Hurts sometimes."

If there ever was a perfect time to ask about his leg, that would've been it, but she let the opening pass regretfully and just nodded instead. "We can slow down, if you want."

"Nah," he shook his head, "its fine. We'll stop soon; get a bite to eat, than probably take a quick nap. I'll be fine."

She doubted that, and her motherly instinct told her to force him to rest, but again, she hardly knew the boy, so for the zillionth time, she just nodded.

They walked for another hour in nerving silence, and in that time period, she watched the deep purple of the sky fade to a smoky gray, and finally, a murky black. There were no lights on in the city ahead, but their eyes had adjusted enough to still be able to see it illuminated even in the darkness. The faint glimmer of life remained still, unmoving, and they continued to advance towards their destination.

"Alright Slinthead's!" Minho yelled over the recently picked up wind, "Shuck me if I'm wrong, but we're all as tired as a runner after returning to the maze. It's starting to cool down now; I say we take the opportunity to eat, sleep, klunk, cry for mommy, whatever. We'll give it a few hours, until all of us feel awake enough to walk again, and then we'll continue, got it?"

A series of yeses and yeahs broke out, while Newt, on the other hand, sighed deeply, his body plunging onto a giant sand dune in front of him. He rolled onto his back, exposing part of his torso, and sighed once again, as he closed his eyes.

Tatum let out a small laugh, and criss crossed her legs as she sat on the tiny dune beside him.

"Here," He said, speaking for the first time in over an hour. He had a granola bar in hand, and he held it out to her.

"Are you sure?" She asked, feeling bad for taking his food. She felt like an idler taking their food.

He nodded exasperatedly, "We're running out anyway," He explained once he saw the apologetic look on her face.

She bit her lip, taking it from his hand.

He grabbed one for him, and they both ate in silence, as they glanced around at the others preparing for sleep. All of them had blanket draped over their bodies, pairs cowering together; while those who weren't sleeping were chatting, and swatting away bits of sand. Tatum enjoyed the relief of wind, but with wind came sand; and sand meant tiny pebbles pelting themselves into your face.

"So I have to ask," She mumbled through a mouthful of granola, "Why'd you believe me over those shanks?" She nodded towards Mund and Jack, who were engrossed in conversation, glancing over at her way every now and again.

Newt shrugged in the horizontal position he was in, causing his shoulders to dig into the sand. "Because I saw your face, I guess."

She frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?" Was she ugly? Were they pitiful? Or was she beautiful? Were they just helping her out because they thought she was attractive?

He propped himself up on his shoulders. "Your face," he repeated, "You had this look. The same look the greenie's did when they came up the Box. The look of hopelessness. You were scared, and desperate. You were like a little frightened mouse—"

"Okay, I get it." She cut him off.

He gave her a crooked smile as he brushed his hair back. When his smile faded, he spoke again. "I guess I just trusted that you meant no harm. I don't think you could be that great of an actor."

"Hey…" She sulked.

He chuckled. "You seem pretty loyal to me."

"Thanks," She touched a hand to her heart and pretended to sniff.

He smacked her in the chest, chuckling again as he fell back into the sand. He yawned, stretching his body out like a small housecat, and rolled over.

Her eyes trailed back over to Thomas, who was still awake despite his sleeping partner Aris beside him. He gave her a smile wave, to which she returned, and then she glanced over at Frypan, whom she had not formally met yet; but that did not stop him from sending her wink once their eyes rallied. She let out a quiet laugh, and then concluded it was time to sleep, after a long yawn of course.

Almost everyone was deep in slumber; the only few awake were her, Thomas, Frypan, Jack, and Mund.

"Well come on then," Newt startled her. She zapped her head towards his body and saw that he was no longer lying on the floor. He kneeled in the sand, his torso erect, while his arms expanded beside him. The blanket decorated his shoulders, and he looked like a bat in the darkness.

He nodded towards the open space in the sheet. "Would you rather be pelted by pebbles?" He asked, raising both brows.

She gave him a sheepish smile.

"What?" He made a face, "S'not like I'm diseased or something," He paused, "Well actually, I guess I am."

Her lips pressed together tightly.

"What?" he asked when he saw her expression.

"Technically you're not diseased. You have a virus, they're different. Diseased is a very broad term that simply means an abnormality in a physiologic process that interferes with the norm. A virus is a microorganism that needs another living host to proliferate."

His eyes fell into thin slits. Maybe it wasn't the best to mess with a hungry, dehydrated, sleep-deprived teenage boy.

"Diseased works too, though." She added when she saw his face. "Whatever," She shrugged, "Basically the same thing"

"Get the shuck over here before I bloody collapse to the floor from sleep deprivation as well as heat exhaustion." He threatened non-menacingly.

She blew out a raspberry.

"Your choice," He shrugged, "I'm fine with hogging the blanket all to myself, just thought I'd be a gentleman n' all."

She sighed, scooting towards him on her knees, and ducked under his shoulder.

They both fell to the ground, their cheeks pressed into the sand. At first, she thought he was going to keep his arm wrapped around her shoulder, which was highly unnecessary. She was perfectly capable of holding a blanket down, but then, he rolled over, his eyes shut tightly.

She rolled onto her stomach, and tucked the blanket under tummy so that she wouldn't have to worry about it flying away, and then curled into a spread-eagle position, her head facing Newt, who was facing away from her.

For the first ten minutes, she remained wide awake. Maybe she had insomnia? Or maybe she had trouble sleeping with loud noises. And no, she was not talking about the wind; she was talking about Minho's snoring.

She covered her ears, curling tighter into a ball as her eyes darted around in the darkness.

The blanket flapped around in the wind, and she tried to hold it still to make less noise, but there was no use.

She glanced to Newt, whose body was lightly rising and falling to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and that's when she noticed his neck.

 **Property of WICKED, Group A, Subject A5, The Glue.**

She pondered over that for a minute, maybe that was what started to make her so tired. Did he hold people together? Was he figuratively the sticky substance that held them all together? Seemed like it from only knowing him for a day.

Her thoughts continued like this for what seemed like forever, until her consciousness began to ebb away.

But just as her mind drew to a close, she heard something, causing her eyes to flash open. At first, she thought she was hearing false things; that maybe it was just the wind howling, but then she heard it again.

Emitting in the distance, deafening and distressing, a blood curdling scream emanated into the thick, dry, desert air.

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 **A/N: Special thanks to ImAbird27 and berryblood for reviewing. Hey, if anyone wants to make a cover for this story, feel free too. (You'd get ten points for gryffindor if you did). I hope things aren't moving too quickly, I'm just trying to follow the pace of the book. Tell me if there is anything you'd like to see!**


	4. Screams

**Disclaimer: We all wish we were as creative as James Dashner...**

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The unanticipated alarm had awoken everyone, and unfortunately, it was impossible to hit he snooze button.

Her first thought was how bad she felt that the screams had woken the sleepy boys up. She swore she could pick up a deep purple under Newt's eyes.

Whispers broke out among the group, as well as rustles and shuffling as everyone lifted their heads from the blankets like turtles inside their shell.

"What's going on?: Newt asked, fisting his eyes as he let the blanket fall to their waists, while their stomachs remained glued to the sand.

With squinty eyes, he scooted forward, trying to analyze the dry wasteland for signs of other life besides them.

Another scream sounded, making everyone flinch, and by then, everyone had awoken. Some stood, some stayed put on the floor, while others conversed.

Another scream, causing only a few to recoil this time.

"What do you thinks wrong with her?" Tatum murmured to Newt.

She watched him as his eyes scrunched tighter, scanning the darkness. "Dunno," He retorted.

Tatum propped herself on her elbows, straightening her back to look over Newt's head. Thomas looked deep in thought, his face scrunched up while his eyes darted all over the place. Aris was looking at Thomas and Minho, as if they were the all-knowing leaders. Minho's head was darting all over the place, looking from the gladers, to the wailing women, and then to her. Fry and Winston looked half asleep, but their eyes widened every time another cry broke out.

She could hear the rushed voices over the screams and wind, picking up pieces here and there.

"What' going on?"

"Who is that?"

"Why is she screaming?"

"Sounds like Teresa,"

Thomas tried to search the crowd for the face of the last statement.

"What do we do?" Tatum yelled at Minho, cupping her hand around her mouth to enunciate.

"Uhh…" He scratched his head, "I…" He sighed, and that was the first time she had seen Minho at a loss for words; whether that was from lack of sleep or the mystery of the wailing women, she didn't know. "Let's just try to go back to sleep."

"Really?" She asked, brows raised.

"Well what else are we supposed to do?" He asked, "You got any better ideas? Because that town still looks at least a day's away, so we couldn't save her if we tried."

She bit her lip. He had a point.

Once he was satisfied with his idea, he nodded to himself. "Yeah, let's just try to sleep through it, get a few hours of sleep. We're all exhausted."

No one disagreed, nor agreed. Everyone just obliged and ducked their heads back into their make-shift tents under the blanket.

She looked to Newt as she rolled onto her back, who looked wide awake now. He sighed through his nostrils, his eyes forcibly shutting, just as hers did, in hopes of just a few hours of doze.

Minutes passed, and at least two screams were produced during that time.

She could hear the other glader's dry thumping footsteps as they stood up, stretching their limbs, while the others rolled around in the sand, attempting to sleep.

Unlike before, she could only hear one light snore.

Another ten minutes passed, and as expected, the screaming didn't impede.

The wailing women continued to fright Tatum and the gladers for the next half hour. No one slept, except for the one light snorer, and no one talked. It was obvious that everyone was forcibly trying to slip into unconsciousness, but the screaming was just too loud, despite the exhausted gladers.

"Alright shanks," She heard Minho's voice howl, signaling for everyone's attention. Newt rolled over in a blur and flipped the blanket's over their heads so they could see him. "I say we take advantage of this. I know we all wanna sleep, but it's clear none of us can. Except for Mund. That shank can sleep through anything." He rolled his eyes. "It's probably a better idea we pick up the pace while it's cooler anyways. I say we run until we can't run no more, and by then we'll collapse from exhaustion and hopefully catch a few Z's then. Sound good?"

At first, the idea of moving her limbs again made her want to strongly deviate, but then she heard the ear-piercing shriek again and she practically sprung into action.

It took everyone a few minutes to gather their things again and rub the sleep from their eyes, but two screams later, they were running faster than they ever had so far. Thomas, Aris, and Minho were in the front, while Newt and she were in the middle; the others trailing closely behind them. She felt awful, like she was keeping Newt behind, because she was never a good runner to begin with, but then she remembered the limp that Newt had, and she didn't feel so bad anymore. Maybe she was an excuse for him to match the dawdling pace.

The moon hung high in the sky, bright and luminescent, whole in the sky. Scattered along the sky like a pale girls' dusted freckles, were stars, the only other light illuminating the inhospitable surroundings.

"Ugh, I wish she'd shut up," She murmured to Newt after another scream.

"Agreed," He replied.

"Kinda seems like we're getting closer," She observed, nodding to the buildings that seemed slightly taller and wider now."

His lips pursed and his brows rose in the air, "Yeah, actually. It does look like we're getting closer."

"Let's pick up the pace guys!" Minho hollered.

They all started a slow jog, enough to salvage their dwindling energy.

"So tell me more about the maze," Tatum sparked.

Newt chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as they matched a steady pace witht heir feet, "You talk a lot, don't ya?"

She shrugged.

"Well," He sighed, "Not much to it then what we told you, I guess."

"Give me details!" She begged, "It's all so fascinating," When she saw the look Newt shot her, she corrected herself, "Terribly fascinating…"

He breathed another laugh, "It's not that exciting. We all lived there, a lot of us died there. We had built a council hall, a homestead, a dining hall, a tree house, a farm, beds, washrooms, we had set meal times and work schedules."

"Sounds like a giant camping trip," She thought, "Only more messed up…"

"You're tellin' me. Minho was a runner, clearly. Thomas was too, new one at that. The runners mapped the maze, although by the last few months we had mapped the whole maze, that's when we fell hopeless."

"Then Thomas arrived?"

"Then Thomas arrived," He nodded. "And Teresa,"

"Do you think the screaming girl is Teresa?"

He rubbed his neck, breathing heavily as he jogged along the sand, "Dunno. Part of me hopes it is, and part of me hopes it isn't."

"Hmm," She responded.

"After that we found that things were changing. People were dying. There was a pattern in the maze which we solved, but that was after the grievers attacked, taking one a night." His eyes sank to the floor, "It was like some kind of game for the Creators. One body, every night, until we escaped. There were at least fifty of us before that."

She observed the gladers. There were fifteen. Fifteen gladers left, that was it.

"We escaped and the saviors basically shoved us in the buggin' helicopters." He looked back to Tatum, and she noticed the poignancy in his eyes. "I remember looking down at that maze in the helicopter. I remember thinking 'Wow. This was where I spent the last three years of my life.' It always seemed so bloody huge, and staring down at it from that helicopter made it seem so shuckin' tiny." He licked his lips, pausing as his eyes moved away from mind. "And one of the men who saved us, Joseph I think his name was, he looked at it so nonchalantly like it was nothing but a bug on the ground, while we, even Thomas, were trying so hard to contain our emotions; to not seem like a buggin' loser and weep."

"That must have been hard." She frowned, watching Newt. It was hard to pick up his features in the low light of the moon.

He nodded, and after that, they were silent for a while, until another thought popped into her mind.

"Can I ask what happened to Winston's face?" She puffed, her arms swinging as she tried to keep up with his limping form.

Newt looked back to Winston, who was covered with a sheet even though it was unnecessary during the night. "Ah… well, it's hard to explain." His eyes locked to Tatum's, "When we were in the tunnel coming up here, there were these blobs."

"Blobs?" Her face scrunched up, expressing her misunderstanding.

"Yeah. The whole tunnel was pitch black, even when our eyes adjusted to the light. At the end of the tunnel we got a good look. These silver blobs melted from the ceiling like water droplets and attached themselves to you. Tommy boy over there said it felt hot, like molten lava. He managed to get one off of Winston."

Her face dropped, and her eyes remained glued to her socks as she ran. It was all like a giant horror movie, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear more. How had that many survived this far? They were just teenagers.

"You know, I find it odd that you're so reluctant to believe us," He scratched his chin.

I shot him an incredulous look, "I get dropped in a deserted wasteland with no water, no food, and a giant aircraft above me with no **_freakin'_** shoes. I'll believe anything."

"Good that. Makes sense." He chuckled.

"Plus the cranks we ran into kind of backed you guys up." She added.

He shrugged, "I suppose you're right."

Tatum gnawed on her bottom lip, "If they're testing your responses and studying you guys, do you think they're studying me too?"

By some unspoken command, they all slowed to a fast walk. and she felt relieved to not have to jog anymore.

"If I'm being honest…" He started, massaging his hands together, "Most likely, yeah."

She nodded, not knowing how to take that news. Once again, she changed the subject at the first sign of uncomfortable-ness. "You guys haven't met group B?"

"Only Aris," He told her. "Seems there are parallels between the two mazes, like there's a girl version of me there, as well as the others."

"I wonder if there's a boy version of me there." She conjectured.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Guess so," She responded, thinking back to Thomas' tattoo.

"Potty break!" Minho announced. "Burry your klunk and don't do it too close. Rest for fifteen, then we're off again."

They all scattered like mice, and she sat down in the sand, wrapping the sheet around herself while she waited for others. Thomas sat beside her, smiling as he plopped onto the dune.

It was then that she realized the girl had stopped screaming, but she was;t complaining, she only worried for the girl, hoped she wasn't in danger.

Her eyes scanned the darkness every so often, checking for any signs of life other than her group. She expected to see nothing, but surprisingly, a darker form stood out along the flat land, a shadow. It was a woman. Her features were too dark to see, as well as too far away.

That's when she noticed the small shack beside her, which she must have came from. It was way closer than the other buildings, and she felt stupid for not having seen it earlier, but she pushed that thought aside and focused on the girl.

"What the hell…" Her eyes scrunched together as she tried to focus on the girl, whose curtain of hair flew in the wind so beautifully it seemed like a hallucination.

"What?" Thomas bumped her shoulder with his.

"A girl…" She hummed to Thomas.

Thomas instantaneously jolted to a stand. His eyes grew wide and grew frantic. There was a vacant look on his face, one that appeared other-worldly

"I forgot to mention something." She stiffened when someone appeared beside her, but relaxed when she saw Newt. "Thomas Teresa and Aris are… well were telepathic."

"What?!" She spat. Now that seemed crazy. She didn't want to believe it, but they way everyone acted so nonchalant about Thomas' face proved her to believe it. He was talking to her, or trying to at least. "Holy klunk."

"Hey!" He clapped, "Nice glader lingo."

She ignored him, her eyes only focused on Thomas. "Is it Teresa?" She asked him.

"No clue," He replied emptily, "No response."

"Think she's in danger?" She asked, assuming that it was Teresa, "Or someone else is?" She elucidated politely, referring that Teresa, or whoever the girl was, could be committing the danger.

"Dunno," He said.

There was a long-suffering silence filled with only the heavy breathing of the group, as well s their dry, thumping footsteps. The girl stood there, watching them it seemed. She said nothing, did nothing, remaining still as her silky hair cascaded around her face.

"Alright," Minho clapped once, startling everyone back into attention, "Who wants to meet the nice young lady?"

"I'll do it." Thomas volounteered before Minho had even finished.

"Woah," Tatum held her hands out, "No. I don't think it's a good idea to just let one person go alone. We should go as a group."

Minho rolled his eyes, and at that precise moment Tatum was getting really fed up with the sarcasm Minho was aexpressing, although he did lighten up the group now and again. "I was kidding, Slintheads. She could have an army of psycho girl ninja's or somethin'"

"Psycho girl ninjas?" Tatum folded her arms across her chest while raising her eyebrows as if to say 'really?'.

Minho nodded, "Yeah…" He over exuberantly nodded. "Now let's go."

"NO!" Thomas vocalized a little to loudly. "No," he repeated quieter. "You guys stay here— I'll go talk to her. Could be a trap. We'd all be idiots to all go over there and fall right into it."

Thomas had a point, but Tatum thought he was just putting up a fight for the sake of possibly getting alone time with Teresa. She could see the little glint he got in his eyes every time they talked about her. She could see how much he really cared for her, and she only envied the Teresa girl for having people that care about her so much.

So Thomas went alone. They all watched him jog lightly away from him, the sand flying up in small fumes with every step he took like smoke dissipating in the wind.

Newt had volunteered to join him, but Thomas seemed persistent on going alone, and thye all respected that. As soon as he left few made comments about how stupid it could be for him to go _completely_ alone.

"Think he'll be alright?" She turned to Minho as soon as Thomas had reached the girl.

"Let's hope so. I actually kinda like the shank."

She snorted, still watching the two.

In a jerking motion, the girl darted to the left, heading straight for the shack she had exited. Predictably, Thomas followed her.

"Let's give them five minutes. If he hasn't come back in by then, I say we all march over there and beat the klunk out of whoever was screaming."

Tatum winced. Even knowing that it was a joke, the image of beating the living 'klunk' out of someone made her queasy.

"So are they like in love or something?" Tatum vocalized to no one in particular.

Newt was the one to answer, of course. "Couldn't tell ya." He clucked his tongue, "He doesn't talk about her much. Didn't really talk to her, either. They only talked in their heads. I guess they have some kind of unspoken connection because they can talk in their heads. Plus they both are in the same sort of standing since they both designed the maze."

"What?" Tatum asked, even though hearing him.

Newt nodded. "When Grievers sting ya, you go through the Changing. Sometimes you receive old memories n' stuff. Tommy saw that him and Teresa were the ones that created the maze, and the code for it. Guess they both kind of feel responsible, but no one blames them."

"Wow." She hadn't expected that news. Then again, she hadn't expected any news she heard that day.

"Doesn't matter though— any of it. Their memories were wiped clean, just like the rest of us. We know whose side they're on."

Tatum couldn't help but think about her past life before being dumped in the Scorch. Maybe she was a worker for WICKED. Maybe she was evil as well, but didn't know it. Or maybe she was just some random stranger involved in the trial to help the candidates to succeed. Either way, Newt was right; didn't matter. Tatum knew which side she was on herself.

"Another minute," Minho said. "Then we're going over there."

Tatum bit her lip.

The sixty seconds went by excruciatingly slow, and she could only hope for Thomas' safety. She had only know the group for less than a whole day, but being stuck with them for twenty hours, pushing personal bubbles, and sharing vital information tended to push people together.

She found herself nibbling on the tiny nubs of her nails, and Newt snorted at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned back to the shack.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Ten.

Five, they were getting ready to move.

Four, their footsteps shuffled in the arid sand.

Three, they started to walk.

Two, Tatum looked to Newt.

One, they saw Thomas.

Tatum exhaled a long sigh of relief. He was stumbling in the dark, and to be honest, he looked drunk. At first glance, Tatum thought he might be wounded; but when he got closer she analyzed that he was perfectly fine, besides the tears he was trying to blink back.

He was still a few yards from them, staggering back and forth. When he collapsed to the floor, sobs escaping from his chest, she immediately booked it for him, sprinting as her feet caught in the heavy sand.

" _Thomas!_ " She screamed, now doubting her initial analyzation. "Are you alright?" She puffed when she got closer, falling to the sand beside him. "Thomas?"

"What kind of shuck idiot are you Thomas!" Tatum heard from behind her, knowing it was Minho.

"What happened?" She asked quieter, putting a hand on Thomas shoulder. HE was on all fours, breathing heavily, while sobs wracked his chest every now and again. She could tell he was trying to be manly about it and hide it for sake of masculinity, but she didn't care.

"It was her." HE shakily exhaled.

"What did she say?" She asked before the rest of the group reached them. "Is she alright?"

"It was… It was Teresa." He managed to say just as the others caught up, slowing to a stop behind them.

Thomas looked up at them with tear-swelled eyes. Tatum dropped her hand as he moved to sit on his legs.

"And you _left_ her there?" Minho growled.

"I had no choice…" He sniffled, finally calming himself now. "It was like she was possessed. Like Gally."

Tatum peered up at Newt, who had his arms folded across his chest and looked back down at her.

"It was some kind of trap… I don't know. But she saved us. S-She tried to strangle me. But then she was screaming— she was hysterical. Then she cried. It was some sort of internal fight for possession of her own body. They were controlling her."

They were all silent, reveling in the realism of it all.

"I bet they'll punish her…" He wanly spoke again. "I bet they'll make her pay for it."

"Dude, if those shuck WICKED people want her dead, she'd be rottin' under a big piel of rocks. She's just as tough as anybody else, maybe tougher. She'll survive." Minho reassured. That was Minho's form of a compliment, and surprisingly, it seemed to flip Thomas' optimistic switch. He exhaled loudly, nodding as he tried to catch his breath again.

"If she's strong enough to overpower a possession of her own body, she's strong enough to survive and fight." Tatum told Thomas, putting her hand on his shoulder again.

Thomas looked up at her, and through teary eyes, he managed to give her a weak smile.

"Dawn's approaching." Minho broadcasted, pointing to the purple tint in the sky. "Now's a good time as ever to take a nap. Make sure you keep the sheets over your head, don't want to look like you aged fifty years."

No one disagreed; in fact, most of them plopped down right there, pulling the blankets over their heads.

It was in no way a problem for Tatum. She looked to her partner, who waved her over, and they curled up in the blanket, just like they did before, and let their consciousness come to a close, welcoming the serenity of slumber.

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 **A/N: THanks to Guest, ImAnInsaneBird27, berryblood, and NEwtnTMR for the reviews!  
**

 **Thoughts** **so far? anything you wanna see? Also: Anyone wanna make a cover story for the story? If so, feel free to PM me! I suck at making them...**


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